


may you know that you’re loved, even when you’re lost

by MagicaLyss



Series: Bluer Than The Sky (Whumptober 2019) [26]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaLyss/pseuds/MagicaLyss
Summary: Whumptober Day Twenty-Nine. NumbStatic.It could’ve been any time between noon and 4am, he doesn’t know- couldn’t know. Time is hard to figure out when his brain is gone and his body is like a heavy, weighted puppet for him to puppeteer.He wants help- needs help. He hates feeling like this. Like he’s so far away from reality, disconnected, filled with static, empty and unreal.But he lays, alone and too far gone to really feel anything, in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and losing himself in the ticking of his watch.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Bluer Than The Sky (Whumptober 2019) [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502675
Comments: 11
Kudos: 261





	may you know that you’re loved, even when you’re lost

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Mental Health (mainly focuses on dissociation)

“You have to tell me what’s going on with you, Peter,” May’s saying, voice far away and echoing.  
  


He’s sitting on a couch, _their_ couch, in their apartment. Queens, he reminds himself. His name is Peter Parker. His aunt is worried about him.  
  


He’s looking at her, but it’s hard to focus on her blurry face, world spinning and colors muddling together. He blinks a few times, wishing he could blink the dark spots out of his vision, but he’s learned their permanence.  
  


“Peter?” May tries again.  
  


Right, he thinks, focus. He has to focus.  
  


Pulling at the corners of his mouth with foreign muscles, he twists his face into a polite smile. “I’m okay, May.”  
  


His own voice sounds weird and distorted, not right to his ears, a stranger’s voice.  
  


And May’s face falls into an emotion he couldn’t even try to decipher if he wanted to. Her hands touch his knees and he looks down at them, blinking slowly and too numb to feel the kind touch.  
  


“I know you’re lying to me,” she says, sighing. He can feel her looking at him, but he can’t remember how to look up again, eyes trained on her blurry hands. “But I can’t _make_ you talk… Just- I’m here for you if you need anything, alright?”  
  


He wants to nod, it seems appropriate to nod, but he can’t quite remember which muscles will allow it, so he doesn’t.  
  


May pulls her hands away from his knees and she stands up, world distorting around her. “I love you, honey, you know that, right?”  
  


He’s staring at her face, trying to make sense of it, trying to convince himself that he looks like that too, trying to convince himself that she’s real.  
  


It’s hard to believe. Only because he doesn’t feel real. And if he’s not real, how in world is everything around him real? It’s hard to differentiate what’s real and what’s not. He feels like his body is melting away and his brain is floating into outer space, and-  
  


He forgets that he’s not supposed to think about space, it hurts just a little bit too much for his dissociation to handle and the universe tips around him, unsure how to handle the two ends of the spectrum at the same time.  
  


“May?” His tongue feels foreign inside his mouth and his voice sounds like it’s underwater.  
  


She turns to him from where she’d given up on him (of course she would, he shouldn’t be surprised, everyone’s going to give up on him, it’s about time) and she offers one of her kind smiles.  
  


“Yeah, honey?”  
  


He likes the sound of her voice, even if it does nothing to stop his body melting into the floor and his brain floating into the ceiling and the panic clawing at his chest.  
  


He hangs onto it like a lifeline.  
  


“Love you too.”

  
*  
  
  
Static.  
  


Filling his ears and his head and his vision, static.  
  


He’s lying in bed. The only thing that exists in his headspace is the ticking on his watch, hand resting over his chest, heart in sync with the ticking.  
  


It could’ve been any time between noon and 4am, he doesn’t know- couldn’t know. Time is hard to figure out when his brain is gone and his body is like a heavy, weighted puppet for him to puppeteer.  
  


He wants help- _needs_ help. He hates feeling like this. Like he’s so far away from reality, disconnected, filled with static, empty and unreal.  
  


But he lays, alone and too far gone to really feel anything, in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and losing himself in the ticking of his watch.

  
*  
  
  
He doesn’t sleep at home, just stares up at the ceiling and lets time slip through his fingers. Instead, he sleeps in class, or at least he pretends to sleep. He thinks he just becomes so not-real that people just think he’s sleeping. Because he never shakes the tiredness.  
  


Detentions fill his afternoons and nothing feels real, so he doesn’t fight it.  
  


His homework is left unfinished, suit left untouched in his closet, light switch taped so it can never be turned off, texts from Tony left on read, he doesn’t process anything.  
  


He just passes through life like a ghost, floating and not-real and numb.

  
*  
  
  
“Peter?”  
  


That’s him, he thinks, quickly blinking his eyes open and towards the speaker. Black spots dance across his vision and exhaustion hangs onto his bones, but he tries his best to focus, even just a little bit on the blurry world.  
  


It’s Ned. He’s holding onto Peter’s elbow, eyes wide with a sort of intensity.  
  


“Peter, I thought you cancelled lab night,” Ned says. People use his name a lot when they’re talking to him like it’ll help him to remember that it’s him they’re talking to.  
  


He’s not sure why Ned would know he cancelled lab night, can’t remember saying that at any point, but he doesn’t really remember cancelling either.  
  


Somehow, someway, Ned seems to understand Peter’s incapability to compute, and he takes the lead as the car honks across from them, glinting in the sunlight and making Peter wince as the world blurs a little bit worse.  
  


The concrete’s too solid under his feet and every step feels like a thousand years pushing forward with every individual muscle, but they do eventually get to the car.  
  


But Ned keeps a firm grip on his arm, giving him no choice but to follow.  
  


Peter doesn’t lift his eyes, but he knows it’s Tony who steps out of the car based on the watch that makes Peter’s brain go fuzzy.  
  


“-okay?” Tony’s saying.  
  


Peter wishes he was better at playing pretend. Wishes he could look up at Tony and smile and make conversation until they got to the tower, but his brain is broken. His body won’t function. He doesn’t feel real.  
  


“It’s just… It’s just a Day, Mister Stark,” Ned’s trying to explain. “He’s just… spacey.”  
  


Peter knows Tony’s frowning without looking at him.  
  


Concrete under his feet, Ned’s hand on his arm, the school behind him, the bustling of students going home. Tony’s watch is ticking, the sun is glaring down on them, the car engine is running.  
  


Grounding. But not enough, never enough to make the static feel less crushing, to make the numbness fade.  
  


“Peter?” Tony’s saying. He’s touching Peter’s cheek, turning his face up, but Peter’s numb, too numb to feel much, to react to the pain in Tony’s eyes. “Hey, bud, you doing okay?”  
  


His face is gentle and kind, calloused hand soft on Peter’s face, words quiet. It’s nice.  
  


But Peter can’t find the strength to formulate a response.  
  


“That’s okay too, buddy,” Tony says and it helps lesson the panic that had been creeping up his throat. “C’mon, let’s get you into the car.”  
  


Tony says some quiet words to Ned while getting Peter into the car, but the young hero doesn’t bother to listen. Too much energy.  
  


Engine, he reminds himself carefully when he starts feeling too weightless. Engine rumbling, watch ticking, breathe, the sun shining, the blurry world spinning around him, the punch-drunk feeling that’s settled around him.  
  


“You hungry, bud?” Tony asks. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat now, suddenly, and the world is even blurrier out the window. “We’ll take it easy when you get to the tower, yeah?”  
  


Even though Peter doesn’t answer any of the questions, Tony doesn’t seem to mind.  
  


“We’ll order some pizza later,” Tony continues. “Get some garlic bread too. You can pick a movie to watch. As long as you don’t pick Toy Story again.”  
  


It’s on the tip of his tongue, the cry for help, the plead to be saved, but nothing comes out of his mouth. So he settles for focusing on Tony’s voice and the soft hum of the engine, and tries his best not to float any more than he already is.

  
*  
  
  
“Mister Stark?”  
  


It’s the first thing he’s said since they arrived to the tower. Tony set him up on the couch and tossed a few blankets over him and there’s an untouched mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table for him.  
  


If Tony’s surprised by him speaking out of the blue, he doesn’t show it. He just turns and puts on one of his soft smiles.  
  


“Mister Parker?” he replies, with the kind of easiness Peter wishes he could have.  
  


He swallows thickly, tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. Tony’s face is all fuzzy around the edges and Peter tries and fails to blink it away.  
  


Tony’s reaching out for him, so he grabs for Tony’s sleeve, needing something to ground him. He _needs_ to be grounded. He can’t remember the last time he was, but nothing seems to help.  
  


“Mister Stark,” he repeats, fingers curling into Tony’s sleeve shakily. It’s too dark and he blinks again to try to rid the world of the awful vignette it’s taken on, but _nothing helps-  
  
_

“I’m here, buddy.”  
  


_I’m not!_ he wants to scream, he’s not here, not present, not real. But nothing escapes his throat.  
  


“Mister Stark.”  
  


Tony’s free hand, the one that isn’t tangled in Peter’s shaking fingers, brushes back Peter’s curls with a careful, cautious touch.  
  


“I’m here, Peter, I’m here. Breathe for me, okay? Can you count five things you see.”  
  


It’s harder than it may seem because he can’t quite be sure if the things around him are real. He can see his hands but he doesn’t feel too real at the moment.  
  


“Peter,” Tony sounds more insistent this time, so Peter pushes himself to cooperate.  
  


“You,” he says, staring into the blurry colors around him. “Um, um, TV, couch, blanket, um, me. Am I- Am I-”  
  


He’s pretty certain he’s panicking, clutching onto Tony like a lifeline who’s kneeling beside the couch, eyes wide.  
  


“That’s good, buddy, you’re doing good. Could you count five things you see that are white?”  
  


Different. Scales tipping. Focus, refocus. White.  
  


It doesn’t help with his punch-drunk blurry vision, but he can do it. If Tony’s asking him to, he’ll try.  
  


“Shirt,” he says, flexing his fingers in the fabric. “Buzz Lightyear, um, um, Tony- I-”  
  


“You’re doing a good job, kiddo, only three more, okay?”  
  


He nods once, movements caught like molasses. “Marshmallows, um, I- um, pillow, and- and rug.”  
  


Tony smiles like he’s insanely proud of Peter. “There you go. You wanna do another one? How about you tell me what things you can hear, hm? You’ve got some crazy enhanced hearing.”  
  


“Heart,” he starts. That’s an easy one. “Watch. TV, Toy Story. Um, cars, and, um, me? Do I count? Am I- Am I real?”  
  


Tony’s still smiling, a quiet smile like it’s a secret. “Yeah, you’re real, bubba. You’re right here with me. I can hear you and feel you and see you. You’re right here sitting on my couch in the Tower. I bought it back after I got _you_ back, you remember that.”  
  


Focus, refocus. Don’t lose it now.  
  


“I need help,” he says.  
  


“We’ll get you help, kiddo,” Tony murmurs, running his thumb over Peter’s thumb. A constant.  
  


“Feels like- Feels like I’m dreaming all the time and I- I don’t know how to wake up,” Peter says. “And it feels like I’m drunk all the time. Like- Like I can’t see right and everything’s blurry and out of focus, and I _can’t_ _feel_ _anything._ I hate it and I- I wanna go back to normal.”  
  


“I used to have nightmares all the time.” It’s an unexpected admission, but it does it’s job of grabbing Peter’s attention again. “Of Titan. I sometimes would have to go watch footage of you swinging about just to remind myself that I got you back. I’ve called May before in the middle of the night to make sure she’s seen you alive and well.”  
  


Peter frowns, feeling real enough for tears to fill his eyes. “I’m sorry.”  
  


But Tony laughs quietly. “No, don’t feel bad, I just wanted to show you that you’re not alone, okay? And I got help and I’m doing better now, and I’ll be with you every step of the way to make sure you get better too, yeah?”  
  


“Feel like- Feels like static.” He’s crying he thinks, lifting one of his hands away from Tony’s sleeve to rub his face and check. “Static and too bright and numb and tired. Always.”  
  


Tony nods and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair gently. “I know, bubba, it’s going to take a little while, but one day, I promise, you’ll feel better, okay?”   
  


“You promise?”  
  


Wrapping his pinky around Peter’s outstretched one, Tony nods. “Yeah, kiddo, I promise.”  
  


It’s not an instant fix, but the promise is enough to help Peter keep pushing forward.  
  


And just as promised, Tony’s there at his side through everything.  
  


Just as promised, one day, he starts feeling better again.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> oops this is just me projecting,,,, oop,,,,,
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://lyssismagical.tumblr.com/)


End file.
